


A Tale of Two Brothers

by vix_spes



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Siblings, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-17
Updated: 2009-04-17
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4452575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the relationship between Boromir and Faramir of the House of Hurin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Screams echoed from the suite belonging to the Steward and his wife. Lady Finduilas, wife to Denethor Lord Steward of Gondor, was in labour with the couple’s second child. Outside the door waited her husband, her brother Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and her oldest child, Denethor’s eight year old son and heir Boromir.  
  
The young Hurin had been overjoyed to hear that he would be gaining a younger sibling and had insisted on being present at the birth despite the multitude of warnings that it would be unpleasant to experience. Even now, he was still excitedly planning what he and his new brother, for he was convinced the babe would be a boy, could get up to.  
  
Finally, as dawn broke after a gruelling eighteen hours in labour the three men waiting outside heard the lusty wails of a newborn. Within minutes the door had opened to reveal one of Finduilas’ maids who gave a curtsey to both Denethor and Imrahil. Before either man could say anything Boromir had jumped up and darted through the open door to his mothers side. By the time that Denethor made it into the bedchamber Boromir was seated next to his mother with his new sibling already in his arms. Smiling at the sight, Denethor made his way to the side of the bed and kissed his wife before pulling back the blanket shielding the newborns face.  
  
“A son my lord. Another son.” Finduilas murmured.  
  
If anything, Denethor’s smile grew wider. “Another son? Finduilas, you do me a great honour. What should you like to call him?”  
  
Finduilas looked at her two sons, tucked against her side and smiled. “I already have one jewel and I now have a second. We’ll call him Faramir.”  
  
At that precise moment Faramir opened his eyes and bright sapphire orbs locked onto Boromir’s green eyes and the elder Hurin brother fell in love.  
  
Two days later Faramir was presented to the people of Gondor in a naming ceremony that was lavish as people expected from the Hurin family. Two weeks later Finduilas was dead and Denethor never recovered from her loss.  
  
Finduilas, the sister of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, had never been a strong woman and had suffered a decline in her health since her marriage to Denethor. That is not to say that the Steward mistreated her, it was simply that she did not cope well at being enclosed within the walls of Minas Tirith. It was rumoured that the people of Dol Amroth had a small portion of elven blood running through their veins and as such, like the elves, suffered from the sea-longing. As the elven traits in their blood were so minimal their longing could be assuaged simply by living in close proximity to the sea rather than leaving for Valinor. The years spent in Minas Tirith and the stress of two pregnancies, even eight years apart, had taken their toll on her health. Barely a day after Faramir’s naming ceremony she was confined to her bed with a fever. Two weeks later she was dead, leaving Denethor a widower and the Hurin brothers without a mother.  
  
When Boromir was born, whilst they had the help of several nurse maids, Denethor and Finduilas had delighted in looking after their son themselves, unlike most noble families. For Faramir however, things were going to be very different.  
  
As soon as Finduilas died, sole care of Faramir was passed into the hands of the nurse maids. Denethor wanted nothing to do with his youngest child. As far as the Steward was concerned it was Faramir who had killed his beloved wife. There was no rationale behind the belief. It was simply all-encompassing grief that manifested itself in anger towards the ginger-haired baby. Logically, Denethor knew that the two-week-old Faramir had nothing to do with Finduilas’ death; a baby couldn’t cause a fever but logic had no effect on his grief-stricken mind. He wanted nothing to do with Faramir. This decision was to affect their relationship for ever more.  
  
 **Four years later….**  
  
Now four years old Faramir was universally adored both by the people living in the Citadel and those in Minas Tirith itself. However, the one person who adored him more than anyone was his older brother. Boromir had fallen in love with his baby brother the first time he set eyes on him four years ago and had been fighting his battles ever since. The two had bonded immediately and Faramir’s first word had been “Bori”, unable to pronounce his brothers name in full.  
  
Two years ago, there had been a huge confrontation between Boromir and the head nurse maid. This woman had originally hailed from Dol Amroth where she had been Finduilas’ nurse maid and later her ladies maid. When Finduilas married Denethor she continued to work as a ladies maid before becoming nurse maid to Boromir and Faramir.  
  
The confrontation occurred when Boromir, then age 10, walked in on Maorwen slapping a two year old Faramir and blaming him for the death of his mother, her mistress. She was unable to see past her grief, like Denethor. Boromir had made the decision then and there that he would be the primary caregiver for his brother. He had help from the Citadel staff but with his father incapacitated as far as Faramir was concerned, it was Boromir who made all of the decisions.  
  
It was Boromir who, after he had completed his own lessons with various tutors taught Faramir to read, write and talk. As a result Faramir was completely and utterly devoted to his older brother. Anything that Boromir asked him or wanted him to do Faramir would do it. The older Hurin was the only one who could calm Faramir down, for the child had a fiery temper to match his distinctly red hair. Boromir was also the only person who could and would comfort Faramir when he was upset; the Citadel staff were too wary of Denethor’s wrath. It was whilst comforting Faramir that Boromir hit upon the pet name that would stick to Faramir forever.  
  
Shortly after the confrontation with Maorwen, Boromir had prematurely installed Faramir into the suite of rooms that were always intended for him when he was old enough to leave the nursery. The rooms adjoined Boromir’s with a connecting door which both brothers liked. It had meant that Boromir was always on hand should Faramir need him. And when the first thunderstorm of the summer came Boromir was definitely needed.  
  
The summer had been incredibly hot and dry. So dry that they hadn’t had rain for months let alone a thunderstorm. Faramir had been too small to remember the last one it was so long ago. The weather was so hot and humid that when the rains came accompanied by thunder and lightning everyone was overjoyed….everyone but Faramir.  
  
The four year old hated the way that the rain lashed against the windows and that the windows sprang open under the onslaught of the wind; his curtains rippling in the gale. He hated the sound of the thunder and the flashes of lightning even more. He whimpered as he huddled under his blankets, wanting Boromir more than anything but too terrified to move from his bed. Finally, after a huge clap of thunder accompanied by lots of lightning he was too terrified to remain in his room and the dash to Boromir’s rooms was a much less daunting prospect.  
  
Gathering his courage, and his blankets, he waited until the next clap of thunder had died away and then, with his room lit up as a result of the lightning he jumped off the bed and flew across to the door that connected his rooms to Boromir’s. Thankfully, the handle was on Boromir’s side so all he had to do was push, the door emitting a huge creak. Boromir, who had been sleeping through the thunderstorm, woke up at the creak having conditioned himself to wake up at the sound knowing that it would be Faramir.  
  
“Fara? Is that you? What’s the matter?”  
  
Faramir couldn’t speak. He just sobbed wordlessly and flung himself towards the haven of his brother’s arms, climbing the blankets like a monkey in his desperation to reach Boromir. The older boy scooted over in the bed and helped Faramir to climb onto the bed. As soon as he was on the bed, he crawled into Boromir’s lap, getting as close to the older boy as he could. Boromir thought that if it was physically possible Faramir would actually become part of him. He felt Faramir’s face bury against the crook of his neck, dripping hot tears onto his skin and nightshirt. Boromir looked confused and tried to pry Faramir away from him but the younger boy clung like a limpet and Boromir soon gave up. Finally, the sobs died away and Faramir shifted in Boromir’s arms, still sniffling quietly but refusing to move away from his older brother.  
  
“Fara? Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” All of a sudden, he thought of something. “Is it the storm?”  
  
Faramir nodded his head. “Don’t like it. Sounds scary and scary flashing lights.”  
  
Boromir smiled slightly and pressed a kiss to the top of the ginger curls. “There’s nothing to be scared of. It’s all completely natural.” Denethor’s heir slowly explained about storms as Faramir settled down further.  
  
When there was no sign of Faramir going to sleep, Boromir started to tell him stories about Thorongil, the fearless warrior who had served their grandfather Ecthelion. All the time that he was talking he was keeping up a soothing stroking pattern on his baby brother’s hair. Faramir nuzzled closer into Boromir’s neck and started making a soft purring noise, before drifting off to sleep, feeling completely safe and protected in his brother’s arms.  
  
“Just like a little kitten.” Boromir noticed with a grin and a barely suppressed snort of laughter. He smiled softly and clutched Faramir that little bit closer as he shifted into a more comfortable position and kissed the top of his hair. “You just sleep Puss. I’ll always be here to protect you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Twenty-four years later....**  
  
Faramir winced as he slowly and carefully peeled his shirt away from his back. He knew that it had been a mistake to sneak Mithrandir into his father’s, and thus, the Stewards private archives but other than his brother, the wizard had been one of the only friends that he had as a child. As a result, he was always willing to help the Maia in any way that he could. Upon his latest fly-by-night visit to Minas Tirith, Mithrandir had needed to access some of the old documents from Faramir’s grandfather Ecthelion’s time as steward and even before then. He had no idea how Denethor had discovered what they had done, but regardless of how he had made the discovery, Faramir was now bearing the brunt of his fury.  
  
Faramir, second son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor and Finduilas of Dol Amroth, his deceased wife, was now twenty-eight years old and Captain of the Ithilien Rangers. His older brother and heir to the Steward, Boromir, was thirty-six and currently held the position of Captain-General of Gondor. Both brothers had been summoned back to Minas Tirith after their father had received news of a Council in the Elven haven of Rivendell. As soon as he had received word of this council, Denethor had immediately summoned Boromir home and had reluctantly, upon the strongly worded advice of his council, also sent for Faramir. Faramir wasn’t sure how, but he had arrived back in Minas Tirith before Boromir at the same time as Mithrandir and with any luck, he would be able to hide the results of that mistake before Boromir returned.  
  
His much adored big brother had no idea just how bad the relationship was between Denethor and his youngest son. He knew that Denethor couldn’t stand the sight of Faramir but then he didn’t think that there was a single person in the city who wasn’t privy to that piece of knowledge. Denethor had washed his hands of Faramir as soon as his mother died a mere two weeks after his birth. Boromir had been father, mother and brother all rolled into one for Faramir. He had raised Faramir, taught him the alphabet, comforted him after nightmares, taught him swordplay and everything that was required for a son of the nobility. They had a bond closer than most siblings and whilst Boromir adored his baby brother, to Faramir Boromir was the most important person in the whole world. However, as much as Boromir loved Faramir and for all that he was foremost in the Captain-General’s heart, there was no denying the elder’s love for his father. It was this love for both Denethor and Faramir that had him torn in two. It was for this reason that Faramir had never revealed that Denethor’s hatred for his youngest son had moved well beyond cold disdain and cruel barbs to physical abuse.  
  
It took him a while but he finally managed to prise his shirt away from the bloody mess that was currently his back. He couldn’t remember when his father’s physical abuse had changed from the odd slap or vivid bruises from being held and shaken so hard to actually being whipped but it had been long enough ago that it barely phased him now. He could withstand the pain and whilst he wasn’t happy about it, he had long ago accepted that his father hated him due to his mother’s death. Gritting his teeth he used warm water and numerous clean rags to remove the blood before smoothing a healing paste courtesy of Ioreth over the welts that were still bleeding sluggishly. With the paste covering most of his back he took longer strips of bandages and wrapped them around his chest, ensuring that the paste was kept on and that any further blood wouldn’t come through onto his clothes where it could be seen by others. He had no desire for Boromir to find out and create any tension in his relationship with Denethor.  
  
He had just managed to put on a fresh tunic and dispose of the bloody rags that were all that remained of his shirt and the rags that he had used to clean his back, when he heard Boromir’s voice in the study portion of his chambers. He breathed a sigh of relief that he had managed to keep the abuse hidden and then excitement at the fact that his brother was here. Due to their duties, they hadn’t been able to see each other for several months and he only wished that their meeting was under better conditions. Knowing that if he kept Boromir waiting much longer he would come looking for him, Faramir exited the bath chamber and discovered that Boromir had indeed grown impatient and had progressed onto searching his chambers.  
  
“Bori?”  
  
He was rewarded by the sight of his brother’s face lighting up completely. His green eyes brightened and a huge grin spread across his face. “Fara! Where have you been hiding Puss? I called out but you didn’t answer.”  
  
“I was in the bath chamber. I wasn’t sure if it was actually you or whether I was imagining things.”  
  
As soon as he finished talking, Faramir was swept into a huge bear hug. Although the Hurin brothers looked similar facially, their physiques were complete opposites. Boromir was a huge bear of a man, tall with broad shoulders and well-muscled, perfectly suited to the huge broad-sword that he preferred. Faramir, in contrast, was much slighter and more suited to his chosen career in the Rangers fighting with bow and knives. His slighter stature made it still possible for Boromir to pick him up and swing him around like he used to when Faramir was still a child. Admittedly, it wasn’t as easy as it used to be but it was still possible.  
  
Boromir laughed as he slung an arm around Faramir’s shoulders and directed him next door into Boromir’s larger chambers. “You made good time to get here little brother. I thought I would arrive back to the city before you for sure.”  
  
Faramir simply shrugged. “When the message came I was actually at Henneth Annun for once and not out in the field. I thought the same as you; I was convinced that you would arrive back before me. Obviously you were the one out in the field.”  
  
“Yes, I was out of camp, checking the forward troops at Osgiliath. By the time I got back to camp, the message had been delivered four days previously. Come, I’ve asked for our dinner to be served in my chambers. We’ll need all the peace we can get; these meetings with Father and his advisors are bound to test even your incredible patience.”  
  
****  
  
By the time they had reached the break for evening meal the following day both Boromir and Faramir had pounding headaches from trying to reason with their Father and keeping his advisors from being offended. Denethor seemed incapable of thinking before he opened his mouth and was thus capable of offending everyone with just a few words. He also had a tendency to refuse the suggestions and advice from even the most experienced Councillors. In the last few years, he had appeared to become even more unpredictable, lashing out with both his tongue and his fists, both methods that Faramir was very familiar.  
  
The problematic point in this council meeting was the announced council in Rivendell. Denethor had finally been brought around to the belief that it was a genuine meeting and not a trap set by the elves. Denethor’s paranoia was something that had also increased in the last few years. It had taken them several hours to convince Denethor that the Council was not a trap and then it had taken them several more hours to convince him of the benefits of sending someone to represent Gondor at said Council. Since shortly after the break for lunch, the advisors and even Boromir, had been trying to convince Denethor that the best person to send to the Council was Faramir.  
  
The younger brother had long attended the council meetings and had effected several changes, all of which had to be suggested to other councillors to propose as the likelihood of Denethor accepting a suggestion of Faramir’s was incredibly slim. Nevertheless, even Boromir acknowledged that, out of the two of them, Faramir was the more intelligent. He was a voracious student, even now that he was a soldier, and had rapidly excelled beyond the expectations of his tutors. Now, they proposed that Faramir should represent Gondor for the simple reason that not only was he a better diplomat at his older brother, but that he was also well-versed in the traditions and languages of the elves. The councillors and Boromir had put forward their arguments, they were now waiting on Denethor’s pronouncement. Finally, he leaned forward in his seat, his decision made.  
  
“No, I do not think that it is the best decision to send Faramir to Rivendell. He may be able to speak Elvish but he is not the man his brother is. Boromir is my heir and the Captain-General of Gondor. He will be best-suited to representing us and ensuring Gondor is protected at this Council.”  
  
Boromir frowned and shook his head, golden-blonde hair whipping around his face. “Father, no. I have to disagree...”  
  
“You would disagree with me Boromir? I am the Steward, my decision is law and final. My decision is that Boromir goes to Rivendell. Gentlemen, I believe that we are finished here. Captain Faramir, I wish to speak with you.”  
  
The Councillors took the hint and left the room, although Boromir lingered, something that his father did not like. “Boromir, you are not needed here. Go to dinner and your brother and I shall join you soon.”  
  
Boromir frowned but followed his father’s orders, leaving the room and leaving his father and younger brother together.  
  
“Father? What do you want of me?”  
  
“I want you to leave for Henneth Annun immediately. Now that the council is completed there is no need for you to remain in Minas Tirith.”  
  
Faramir bowed to hide the disappointment on his face. “Of course Father, as you wish. I will leave immediately after dinner.”  
  
“No Captain. I want you to leave immediately.”  
  
Faramir gulped audibly. “Of course, I will just fetch my gear and say goodbye to Boromir.”  
  
Denethor gave a cold, malicious smile. “Your gear has been brought here already. You have no time to say your farewells to your beloved brother. Your horse has been brought around. Leave now.”  
  
“Yes, my Lord.” The downcast figure of the Ithilien Captain left the council chamber to carry out his Lord’s wishes, no matter how reluctantly.


	3. Chapter 3

  
  
“Nazgûl! Mordor has come.”  
  
Faramir’s heart sank even as he cried out the words. It didn’t come as a surprise to him as things had taken a turn for the worse for Gondor and its people a long time ago. His father had sunk into paranoia a long time ago but his descent into madness had progressed rapidly following Boromir’s apparent death. They were not completely sure that the Captain-General had died but they hadn’t heard anything from him since he left for Rivendell, or at least Faramir hadn’t. Then, the Horn of Gondor, the one that Boromir never let leave his side, had been washed up ashore and something inside of Denethor had flipped. He had called Faramir and his Rangers back from Henneth Annun and sent them to Osgiliath and the surrounding areas to spy on the Haradrim. Things had only gotten worse with the capture of the two hobbits and the creature that they were travelling with. Shaking his head, he remembered his meeting with his second Madril.  
  
**Flashback**  
  
“What news?”  
  
“Our scouts report Saruman has attacked Rohan. points to Rohan on the map Théoden’s people have fled to Helm’s Deep.” The man drew an invisible line to Helm’s Deep. “But we must look to our own borders. Faramir, Orcs are on the move. Sauron is marshaling an army.” He then moved his finger around the border of Osgiliath. “Easterlings and Southrons are at the Black Gate.”  
  
Faramir closed his eyes. “How many?”  
  
“Some thousands. More come every day.”  
  
“Who’s covering the river to the north?”  
  
“We pulled 500 men at Osgiliath. If their site is attacked, we won’t hold it.”  
  
Faramir frowned. “Saruman attacks from Isengard.” He touched Isengard and then moved his finger to Mordor. “Sauron from Mordor. The fight will come to Men on both fronts. Gondor is weak. Sauron will strike us soon. And he will strike hard. He knows now we do not have the strength to repel him.”  
  
**End Flashback**  
  
Things had only become worse when the truth about the hobbits had come about and the knowledge that they had known Boromir. It had just brought the loss of his brother back to him even more poignantly and he had made his rash decisions in an attempt to please his father, to be even a little like his brother. It hadn’t worked and he had eventually released them following the Nazgûl attack. A decision that would no doubt cost him dearly. He turned around as he felt Madril lay a hand on his shoulder and waited for the second to speak.  
  
“It’s been very quiet across the river. The Orcs are lying low. The garrison may have moved out. We’ve sent scouts to Cair Andros. If the Orcs attack from the north, we’ll have some warning.”  
  
Almost as soon as the words had left Faramir’s mouth they heard a yell from one of the soldiers on the wall before they heard the familiar hiss of arrows. “They’re not coming from the north. To the river! Quick. Quick! Go. Come on!”  
  
“ Faramir!”  
  
The Ranger Captain stepped to one side in order to avoid a hail of arrows from the Gondorian soldiers behind him. He heard the despairing cry from Madril.  
  
“We cannot hold them! The city is lost!”  
  
At those words, looking at the ruins of Osgiliath in despair, Faramir made a decision. “Tell the Men to break cover. We ride for Minas Tirith.”  
  
The battle raged as the Nazgûl and the Fell-beasts circled Osgiliath, darting in to grab Men in their claws. Cries from the soldiers surrounded Faramir as they tried to escape.  
  
“Nazgûl!”  
  
“Take cover! Nazgûl!”  
  
He cried out as he saw Madril fall, fatally wounded and ran for the horses. “Fall back! Fall back to Minas Tirith! Retreat! Retreat!”  
  
The Men of Gondor continue their headlong flight from Osgiliath. The Nazgûl were darting in and out, causing many deaths among the horses and riders. It all looked hopeless for the Men of Gondor, until they saw a white horse gallop from the city gates of Minas Tirith.  
  
Faramir breathed a sigh of relief when the cry went up from the soldiers. “It’s Mithrandir! The White Rider!”  
  
As soon as he reached the safety of the gates of Minas Tirith he made his way over to Mithrandir. “Mithrandir! They broke through our defenses. They've taken the bridge and the west bank. Battalions of Orcs are crossing the river.”  
  
“It is as the Lord Denethor predicted! Long has he foreseen this doom!” One Gondorian soldier shouted, panic tinging his voice.  
  
“Foreseen and done nothing!” Gandalf snarled. He turned around with Shadowfax, revealing Pippin sat in front of him. As Faramir saw the hobbit, he stared at him. Pippin noticed the scrutiny he was being subjected to and lowered his face.  
  
“Faramir? This is not the first Halfling to have crossed your path.”  
  
“ No.”  
  
Pippin looked up eagerly. “You've seen Frodo and Sam?”  
  
At Faramir’s nod Gandalf questioned him. “Where? When?”  
  
“In Ithilien. Not two days ago.”  
  
“Gandalf, they've taken the road to the Morgul Vale.”  
  
The smile on Gandalf’s face disappeared and he looked at Faramir in worry. “And then the Pass of Cirith Ungol. Faramir, tell me everything. Tell me all you know.”  
  
***  
  
“This is how you would serve your city? You would risk its utter ruin?”  
  
Faramir winced at his father’s diatribe even as he gave his response. “I did what I judged to be right.”  
  
His father’s reply bit deep into his soul at the worries he had entertained when he made the decision. “What you judged to be right. You sent the Ring of Power into Mordor in the hands of a witless Halfling. It should have been brought back to the Citadel to be kept safe. Hidden. Dark and deep in the vaults not to be used. Unless at the uttermost end of need.”  
  
“I would not use the Ring. Not if Minas Tirith were falling in ruin and I alone could save her.”  
  
Denethor scoffed. “Ever you desire to appear lordly and gracious as a king of old. Boromir would have remembered his father’s need. He would have brought me a kingly gift.”  
  
Faramir shook his head in determination. “Boromir would not have brought the Ring. He would have stretched out his hand to this thing and taken it. He would’ve fallen.”  
  
“You know nothing of this matter!”  
  
Faramir was adamant, both in what he now knew about the ring and his knowledge of his brother. “He would have kept it for his own. And when he returned you would not have known your son.”  
  
Denethor stood from his seat in anger. “Boromir was loyal to me! Not some wizard’s pupil!” He tripped and fell against his chair.  
  
Faramir made as if to move forward. “Father?”  
  
Denethor’s face lit up. “My son.” Almost as soon as he took a breath, his mood changed. “Leave me.”  
  
***  
  
Denethor moved to sit at a table laden with food and drink, Pippin stood at his side before he spoke to Faramir again. “I do not think we should so lightly abandon the outer defenses, defenses that your brother long held intact.”  
  
“What would you have me do?” Faramir was confused, what else could they do? Osgiliath had already been overrun by orcs.  
  
“I will not yield the river and Pelennor unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken.” Denethor spoke in a way that proved he had no idea what was going on at Gondor’s Eastern front. However, despite knowing that his arguments would do no good, Faramir had to make an attempt at pleading his case.  
  
“My Lord, Osgiliath is overrun.”  
  
Denethor scoffed at him. “Much must be risked in war. Is there a captain here who still has the courage to do his lord's will?”  
  
Faramir could no longer hide the pain in his voice as it cracked. “You wish now that our places had been exchanged, that I had died and Boromir had lived.”  
  
His heart broke at his father’s words which came after a long pause. “Yes, I wish that.”  
  
Faramir felt the tears form in his eyes and it was all he could do to stop them from running down his face. He had long known how his father felt about him, the physical and mental abuse was evidence of that. He had always known that Boromir was the favourite in Denethor’s eyes but, to actually be told that his father wished he had died in place of his beloved brother completely broke his heart. He gathered his strength, hoping that his voice wouldn’t break and reveal his complete and utter misery.  
  
“Since you are robbed of Boromir, I will do what I can in his stead.”  
  
He bowed to his father and turned to leave the room. He was almost at the doors when he turned again to look at the Steward, who had continued eating and drinking as though he had not just ordered his remaining son to what could prove to be his death, and opened his mouth to speak.  
  
“If I should return, think better of me, Father.”  
  
His heart sank at his father’s cold-hearted reply. “That will depend on the manner of your return.”  
  
Faramir rode down the streets of Minas Tirith amongst the small group of his soldiers, on their way to follow his father’s orders and attempt to retake Osgiliath. They were watched by the people of the city and Faramir was conscious of the sad looks on their faces as the women threw flowers at the horses feet and handed small bouquets to the soldier’s that they could reach. He looked around as he heard a voice calling his name.  
  
“Faramir! Faramir! Your father's will has turned to madness. Do not throw away your life so rashly!” Gandalf couldn’t believe that Faramir was willing to throw away his life in order to carry out his father’s demands.  
  
“Where does my allegiance lie if not here? This is the city of the Men of Numenor. I will gladly give my life to defend her beauty, her memory, her wisdom.”  
  
Gandalf smiled at the reply, this Hurin was the one destined to be the Steward. He was no career soldier although he was a fine Captain of the Rangers. Faramir was a true scholar, one that would have been perfectly at home in Rivendell under the tutelage of Lord Elrond. The wizard sighed as he watched the young man he had seen grow up and loved dearly ride to his almost inevitable doom. “Your father loves you, Faramir. He will remember it before the end.”  
  
Faramir thought on Gandalf’s words as he joined the soldiers forming ranks and preparing to ride towards Osgiliath. With all that he was, he wanted to believe them, that his father really did love him and that he would realise this but he also knew that it was futile. His father had had twenty-four years to realise he loved him and instead he seemed to hate him more with every year. Knowing that the people of Minas Tirith were lining the walls behind them he raised his sword and led the charge in a desperate attempt to both reclaim Osgiliath and attempt to claw himself some small portion of his father’s respect.  
  
****  
  
Denethor was roused from his gluttony by the voices of the guards on the gate calling “Open the gate! Quick! Quick, hurry!”  
  
He remembered what he had done and called out the name of his remaining child “Faramir! Say not that he has fallen!” Having lost Boromir, he was not sure that he could lose his youngest as well, despite his words.  
  
“They were outnumbered. None survived.”  
  
He paid little attention to the soldier’s words, completely lost in his misery as he keened. “My sons are spent. My line has ended.”  
  
“He's alive!”  
  
“The House of Stewards has failed!” He dimly heard the words but they failed to register with him.  
  
“He needs medicine, my lord!”  
  
“My line has ended! Rohan has deserted us. Théoden's betrayed me. Abandon your posts! Flee! Flee for your lives!”  
  
Completely lost in a combination of madness and grief at having lost both of his sons, he gave the orders, fully prepared to kill himself alongside the body of his youngest son and the Horn of Gondor, all that remained of his heir. He no longer cared as to the fate of Minas Tirith and that of Gondor. He would die himself before seeing his beloved Gondor perish.


	4. Chapter 4

  
  
Boromir breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the gates of Minas Tirith. After the disastrous attack at Amon Hen he had almost given up hope of ever returning to his homeland. He should have died at Amon Hen and it was only thanks to Aragorn’s healing ability and his and Legolas’ field medic training that he had survived at all. Unfortunately, he had lost the Horn of Gondor in the attack and in the days and weeks that had followed he had been unable to contact Faramir, even once having joined up with his old friend Eomer. All he wanted was to see Faramir again, he needed to see him again, especially with the younger man having disappeared without saying goodbye after that disastrous council with their father. He looked up as he heard Legolas’ voice.  
  
“Are you looking forward to being back home Boromir? Seeing your family?” Legolas queried with a smile on his face, knowing more than anything that he wanted to see his father back in Eryn Lasgalen,  
  
Boromir smiled “Hmm, I suppose I’ll be happy to see my father again. The person I really want to see is my baby brother, I’ve missed him more than anything; he means the world to me. I’m just hoping that he’s here and not in Ithilien, he can’t still be there after the battle and he’s not going to be in Osgiliath.”  
  
“I didn’t even realise that you had a brother Boromir, you’ve never mentioned him before. What’s he like?” Legolas’ went unanswered as they passed under the gates of the sixth ring of Minas Tirith and Boromir caught sight of a fast moving blur of healing robes and copper-coloured hair.  
  
A fast-moving blur that cried out “Bori!”  
  
Boromir just stared in shock at the sight of his little brother running towards him full pelt but recovered from his shock quickly and caught him up in his arms crying “Fara!” and swung him around as Faramir buried his face in Boromir’s shoulder, clinging tightly to him.  
  
“You’re home, Bori you’re really home, I thought you’d died” Faramir all but sobbed into his brothers shoulder as he clung to him, not caring who was watching, nor how old he was.  
  
Boromir was also crying “Well, I couldn’t leave you by yourself could I now Puss? Why are you dressed in tunics from the Houses of Healing? You’re not injured are you? Don’t lie to me now little one, you know I won’t believe you, are you even supposed to be out of bed?”  
  
“No I’m not supposed to be out of bed and yes I was injured – we rode out to reclaim Osgiliath and it went badly, I was the only one who came back alive and that was barely.” Here Faramir wheezed for breath as Boromir clutched him closer to him  
  
“Silly puss, what did you think you were doing? Let me guess, you weren’t thinking, Father demanded you to didn’t he. Where is the old fool now?”  
  
Faramir’s eyes darted left and right as he tried to think of an answer before he shivered violently  
  
“Never mind, you can tell me later. For now, we need to get you back to the halls. Come on little one.” To the sounds of Faramir’s protests and the fellowship’s amazement the golden-haired warrior scooped his little brother up in his arms seemingly effortlessly and started carrying him back to the halls. They watched as Faramir wriggled futilely in protest before he realised he couldn’t do anything and settled down, wrapping his arms around Boromir’s neck, prompting a kiss to his forehead from the elder.  
  
Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli turned to look at Gandalf with questions in their eyes, knowing that he had known the brothers since they were born.  
  
“It has always been like that between the two of them. Boromir was 8 when Faramir was born and decided then and there that he would be his brother’s champion for the rest of his life, a role he has had to fill a great deal more than I imagine he ever thought he would have to. Their father Denethor, the Steward, blamed Faramir for his mother’s death and has ignored and belittled him for the whole of his life. Boromir has been father, mother and brother to Faramir since he was born and the only affection they ever received was from each other and their mother’s relatives. Faramir has Boromir wrapped around his finger yet he doesn’t realise it, it’s not in his nature. It’s a wonder that the child is alive after the last few days. His father ordered him to lead a charge to retake Osgiliath – Faramir was the only one to return alive and he was closer to death than life. Denethor in his madness thought that Faramir was dead and in his grief at losing both sons he tried to burn both Faramir and himself on a pyre.”  
  
The three of them gasped in horror at the thought of what the two sons of the house of Hurin had been through. Legolas, as the son of a king understood that father’s had a role to play and an image to uphold in front of the populace, but he was also safe in the knowledge that his father loved him and had spent many hours when he was not in council playing with his children and spending time with them generally.  
  
Boromir took Faramir back to the Houses of Healing and laid him back down the bed he had claimed before sitting at his bedside and gently soothing him back to sleep. He had just achieved his object when he was approached by Rhircyn – the man who had been his father’s surgeon and personal physician.  
  
“Rhircyn! How are you? How’s Faramir, truly? And Father?”  
  
“You haven’t been told about your father Lord Boromir?”  
  
“No, what about him? Fara refused to talk about it and he looked so weak I didn’t push him about it”  
  
“Denethor lost his mind after we found the Horn of Gondor; we all thought you’d died. Faramir and the rangers were moved to Osgiliath from Henneth Annun and ordered to hold it against the enemy. Orcs attacked and they outnumbered the rangers and the few soldiers 10 to 1. They abandoned the city and made a break across the plains but the Nazgûl attacked them. Your father demanded that Faramir lead a charge to reclaim Osgiliath. Rumour has it that one of the guards heard your father say to Faramir that he wished you had lived and that Faramir had died. Again it went badly and your brother was the only one who returned and even then he was closer to death than life. Your father didn’t believe that he was alive and tried to burn himself and Faramir on a pyre down in the catacombs. Gandalf saved your brother but Denethor jumped off the top of the city and died.” The physician looked up to see tears streaming down Boromir’s face as he clung to Faramir’s hand, stroking back the copper coloured hair from the slightly warm forehead.  
  
“How is he then?”  
  
“He’s got bad burns to his arms and legs, fractured ribs, cuts and bruises and arrow wounds to his shoulder and left thigh. He will be fine Lord Boromir, he just needs to be looked after and coddled for a while. I’m sure you will be able to take care of that, another couple of nights and he will be able to move back to his rooms.”  
  
“Good. Will I be able to stay with him for the night? I can’t leave him here by himself, not after not seeing him for so long and him believing that I was dead. I can’t do that to him and I can’t do it to myself.”  
  
“As always Lord Boromir you make a persuasive argument. You may stay here with Lord Faramir. I shall let the other healers know that you have permission.”  
  
“Thank you Rhircyn. I appreciate everything you’ve done for him”  
  
As the elder man walked away Faramir started to become restless, moving around and trying to dislodge the covers that were covering him. Boromir reached over and started smoothing a hand through the copper locks – something that had always soothed him as a child but now didn’t appear to work. Just at that moment Faramir started mumbling and becoming even more restless and from the words that Boromir could work out he realised that Faramir was dreaming of his death, it not quite having sunken in that his brother was alive and well. Realising that there was nothing else to do to soothe his brother, Boromir moved him across slightly into the thankfully larger than normal bed and, shucking off his boots, weaponry and outer-tunics, he slipped into the bed, pulling Faramir into his arms. Upon recognising the arms that encircled him, even through sleep, Faramir turned into his brother, nuzzling his face into his neck and resting his head on his brothers shoulder with a happy sigh of “Bori” before settling into a more restful sleep.  
  
Boromir smiled slightly through the few tears that were making their way down his face and pressed a kiss to the head that was buried in his shoulder. “Sssshh, sleep tight Puss, it’s all right, I’m here. You’re safe now.”  
  
Several hours later, Boromir was awoken from his light doze by the noise of people walking into the halls. He looked up blearily and saw Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Eomer and Gandalf looking at him in thinly veiled curiosity.  
  
“How’s Faramir doing?”  
  
“Rhircyn said that he will be fine after a few days rest and some serious coddling. Thank you for what you did Mithrandir, if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t have him anymore and I don’t think I could have coped with that.”  
  
“Would you like me to check him over?”  
  
“My thanks Aragorn but until he wakes up he won’t let me go without a fight, I learnt that when he was a baby. If he doesn’t want to wake up then he won’t and according to Ioreth this is the first sound sleep he has had since I left for Imladris” As Boromir spoke, Faramir became slightly restless and Boromir paused for a moment to soothe him “Hush little one, it’s alright. Go back to sleep puss, I’m still here”  
  
“I don’t mean to pry Boromir but why do you call him puss? It seems a rather unusual nickname to have stuck for so long” Legolas enquired  
  
“I presume Mithrandir told you a bit about our history?” At the nods he received he carried on with his tale “Faramir has been mine to look after since our mother died when he was 6months old. Our nurse had been our mothers nurse when she was a child and blinded by grief she blamed Faramir for the death of our mother along with our father, who felt the same way. The only people Faramir ever got affection from were myself and Mithrandir but as our father became more and more irrational Mithrandir was banned from Minas Tirith and I was sent away to become Captain-General of Gondor. I do not know how much Faramir suffered without me but I dread to think. As to why I call him puss. When he was much younger Faramir used to be terrified of storms and used to creep into my room to hide from them. The only way to get him to sleep was to stroke his hair and when you did that he purred like a kitten. We both know that he’s too old for such nicknames but I suppose it makes him feel safe when I call him that. I suppose in a way it also makes me feel safer as I know that he’s there. He is the one thing that has kept me going for so long; I honestly don’t know how I coped without him throughout this trip.”  
  
“I don’t mean any offence Boromir but what does your brother do? I mean, you never told us about him and he doesn’t look like a soldier like you do”  
  
“He’s a ranger and a bloody good one at that. He’s Captain of the Ithilien Rangers who are stationed at Henneth Annun. He’s the best archer I’ve seen who’s not an elf and they’ve terrified my soldiers by sneaking up on them when we’ve been taking them supplies. The Ithilien Rangers are Gondor’s elite – the best at tracking, intelligence, stealth, hand to hand and archery. As much as I love him he couldn’t hack being a foot soldier. He’s not big enough.”  
  
“Who’s not big enough for what?” came a sleepy murmur from around Boromir’s shoulder  
  
“You’re not big enough or ugly enough to be a soldier like me, you’re better at all that stalking stuff”  
  
“Well I always the more attractive brother and you’ve called me puss since I was born so I should be good at the whole stalking thing.” He giggled as Boromir attacked him gently and tickled him before hesitating, “Bori, why do I get the feeling that people are watching me?”  
  
“That’s because people are watching you puss” Boromir laughed at the pout on Faramir’s face as he sleepily opened his eyes again “Turn around little cat and meet the people I’ve been travelling with for the months I’ve been gone”  
  
Faramir struggled to turn around in Boromir’s arms and promptly blushed bright red as he realised that his brother was right and there were people watching him with looks of amusement on their faces.  
  
“Fara, this is Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Eomer and I’m sure you remember Mithrandir.”  
  
As best as he was able Faramir greeted them before he focused in on Aragorn “You’re the man I saw in my dreams! I saw you walking into Minas Tirith with a silver banner with the tree of Gondor.” Then his gaze switched to Legolas “And you’re from Greenwood the Great if I’m correct.”  
  
Legolas gaped at him in amazement “I am indeed. How did you know?”  
  
“Faramir is a veritable wealth of information on the elves, Numenor and Gondor of old. It is thanks to him that I was able to discover much of my necessary information from the archives here in the city. I also regret the fact that Faramir helping me caused a lot of the friction between him and his father. Denethor despised the fact that Faramir was a ‘wizard’s pupil’ as he referred to him.”  
  
“Never mind Faramir’s helping you Mithrandir, his knowledge has helped us many a time in the field. He also helped with momentous decisions made in the council’s held by our father. He was always more suited to meetings and things than I was. I was always much better with a sword in the field.”  
  
“Not true Bori, you’re better at dealing with people than I am. You give a command and people follow it – they don’t do that with me, I don’t have your charisma. I never have had and I never will have.”


	5. Chapter 5

  
  
 Two days later and Faramir was ready to leave the Houses of Healing and return to his old rooms. Aragorn had refused to move into the stewards rooms, claiming that they belonged to Boromir who would become his steward and similarly, Boromir had refused to move into Denethor’s old rooms preferring to stay in his which adjoined Faramir’s.  
  
Faramir was starting to chafe at having to spend so much time in the Houses of Healing but he wasn’t sick of the fussing and coddling he was receiving from Boromir. Instead, he relished the attention he was getting from Boromir for such a long period of time. He knew that the amount of affection that they showed each other was perhaps strange for men of their age but Boromir was not just his brother, he was also his mother, father and closest friend. He was now fidgeting as he waited for Boromir to come and collect him with the agreement of the healers. All he wanted to do was get back to his own rooms with a warm fire and curl up in his favourite window-seat. The only thing frustrating him now was that he was not allowed to go back to his rooms by himself due to the still healing burns on his legs and his fractured ribs. He looked up with a smile as Boromir’s voice boomed out across the halls.  
  
“You ready to escape yet Puss?”  
  
“Bori, I’ve been waiting for hours. How long does it take you to come and get me? What have you been doing this morning?”  
  
“Did you think that I’d forgotten about you Fara? I’ve been helping Aragorn with the plans for the final battle. They’ve decided to ride out to the Black Gate and he wanted all the Generals of Gondor, Rohan and the combined armies.” Boromir stopped talking as he realised Faramir had started to shake minutely. “Puss, what is it? What are you shaking for?”  
  
“Does that mean that you’re riding out with them? Does this mean I could lose you again?” Faramir was struggling to hold back the tears by the time he finished speaking.  
  
Boromir was also struggling to keep his composure. “Oh pet, no, I’m not riding out with them and you’re not going to lose me again. You never lost me in the first place. Aragorn doesn’t want me to ride out with him; he wants me to stay in Minas Tirith in case things go wrong and then he has a steward to take over just in case. So, if you’re ready, I’ll be taking you back to your room s where I have breakfast waiting – I have honey, toast and milk – your favourite?” He was wheedling by this point, knowing that he had to bring Faramir round to his point of view. The combination had been one that calmed the younger brother down after night-terrors when he was a child; a child with an incredibly sweet tooth.  
  
Faramir pouted but knew that he had already capitulated to his brothers wishes – he always did where his Boromir was concerned, he would do anything to keep his older brother happy as he meant the world to him.  
  
“Fine, but is it my favourite honey? And do I get nutmeg in my milk?”  
  
Boromir laughed in relief. “You get anything you want Puss, I just want you home and safe and well. I just want my baby brother back and recovered.”  
  
“I am recovered Boromir. I’m fine, I promise. I just want to get back to my own rooms where it’s peaceful and quiet. I’m just tired.”  
  
“I know but forgive me if I want to coddle you. I got the shock of my life seeing you in healers robes and when Rhircyn told me what happened I almost had a heart attack. If father had been alive I would have killed him for what he did to you. Now, come on, you’re still not allowed to walk so I have to carry you. I promise I’ll be as careful as I can.”  
  
Faramir nodded, the absolute trust he had for his elder brother visible in his eyes, amazing Boromir as always that someone trusted him that much. He slipped his arms around Boromir’s neck and rested his head against Boromir’s shoulder as they walked through the Citadel.  
  
Within minutes they had arrived at the suite of rooms that had been Faramir’s ever since he was old enough to move out of the nursery. As they entered the rooms Faramir sighed in bliss as there was a fire roaring in the grate and the scent of honey and nutmeg was heavy in the air. He allowed Boromir to deposit him in the loveseat closest to the fireplace, snuggling into him as he sat down next to him. His stomach growled at the scent of the bread and honey and he wolfed down what he was given, grinning sheepishly as Boromir laughed at him. He finished eating relatively quickly and leant back into the broad chest behind him, happy to just be spending time with Boromir.  
  
The same thoughts were running through Boromir’s head. He had lost count of the times in recent months he had wished he were back in Gondor with Faramir. He knew that the relationship they shared was unusually close for brothers, especially seeing as there was such a large age gap between the two of them. But, he knew that if he had lost Faramir in the battle for Osgiliath he wouldn’t have been able to carry on – he regarded his baby brother as the other half of his soul. He had become close to Aragorn and Eomer during their time together but there was no-one like Faramir as far as he was concerned.  
  
He smiled softly as Faramir snuffled, much like a six year old and settled closer to Boromir, a feat that Boromir would have thought nigh on impossible. As he thought about it, Faramir had always been incredibly affectionate, particularly with Boromir, perhaps a result of the fact that their father had ignored him since he was born resulting in him turning to Boromir for love, comfort, guidance and affection. It had been Boromir who had taught Faramir his letters, how to fight, how to ride a horse and a multitude of other things. He wasn’t even bitter that Faramir had exceeded him in intelligence, being able to speak both forms of Elvish – Quenya and Sindarin.  
  
At the moment he was more concerned with the fact that his baby brother had done the impossible and cheated death, especially seeing as that death had been forced upon him by his own father. He was brought out of his musings as he felt Faramir yawn and rub his face, cat-like, against the warm velvet of Boromir’s tunic more like a six year old than a twenty-eight year old. As he thought about it, Faramir had never truly had the opportunity to be a child, the death of his mother shortly after his birth meant that Faramir had grown up with no mother figure and his father had practically abandoned him, leaving him to the care of his brother. He smiled indulgently as Faramir yawned widely once more.  
  
“You can go to sleep if you want Fara, you’re still healing and the sleep is good for you.”  
  
Faramir pouted and widened his eyes, a look that he had practised and perfected on Boromir over the years.  
  
“But I don’t want to go to sleep yet. All I’ve done is sleep since you got here and I haven’t seen you for months!”  
  
“I know you don’t want to go to sleep but it’s not as if I’m going to disappear on you – I’m not going anywhere. Why don’t you just close your eyes and I’ll tell you a story.”  
  
“’m not a child Bori. I don’t need a bed-time story.”  
  
“I know you don’t Puss, I just thought you might want to hear about where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing in the last few months.”  
  
“Will you tell me?” Faramir craned his neck to look up at Boromir, pulling his puppy dog eyes as he did so.  
  
Boromir just laughed, picking up a soft woollen blanket and tucking it around him before wrapping his arms around Faramir and starting to speak.  
  
“Well, for a start I’m sorry that I disappeared without saying goodbye to you but I had no choice. Father demanded that I go and you know what father was like. I had no choice and I wished I hadn’t had to go but father was adamant that I was the best person to carry it out. I rode straight to Imladris and I’ve never seen anywhere like it. You’d love it Fara. There are elves everywhere and the atmosphere there is so peaceful and tranquil. There’s a sense of knowledge there and a quiet sense of power that underlies everything. The library there is huge, even bigger than the library here and Lord Elrond is incredible. He’s a healer and a loremaster and he used to be a warrior.”  
  
Boromir carried on extolling the virtues of Imladris for another thirty minutes before he looked down and noticed that Faramir had fallen asleep. Logically he knew that he should get back to the meeting with Aragorn and the others, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Faramir. He knew that Aragorn would understand his reasoning and wouldn’t mind his absence from the council. Wrapping his arms around Faramir that little bit tighter, he picked him up and moved to the bed before making himself comfortable against the headboard, his mind automatically flying back to the numerous times that they had been in the same position when they were much younger.


	6. Chapter 6

Life was finally almost back to normal for the Hurin brothers. It had been difficult for Boromir to watch the Host of the West ride out of Minas Tirith but, having sat in on the preparatory missions, he accepted why he needed to stay behind. He had been convinced by Aragorn’s argument that he was needed in the city should anything happen to the Ranger. Should Aragorn die, then Boromir was ready to take over the stewardship of Gondor. Much to his relief, Aragorn had returned along with Éomer, Gandalf and the rest of the Fellowship. Whilst Denethor had trained his eldest son to become the Steward eventually, Boromir was relieved that there was a King on the Throne and as such, his title of Steward meant that he was just there to help the new King.  
  
The coronation of King Elessar had been a truly wonderful event as had the subsequent marriage between Aragorn and Arwen. Both the coronation and the wedding had been immensely public affairs with thousands of people attending, elves and men alike. Aragorn’s elf-brothers had taken up semi-permanent residence in Minas Tirith having ridden with the Rangers since the Path of the Dead and then staying to see their beloved baby sister married. Arwen had arrived accompanied by her father and his two closest advisors Glorfindel and Erestor. The two lore-masters had found themselves with very little to do once both ceremonies were over but had quickly found a captive audience in Faramir, the new Lord of Ithilien. With the marriage of the Evenstar to the new King, they had been joined by the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien and the King Thranduil of the Greenwood. Faramir had spent hours with the five elves and with Gandalf, learning everything he could about the history of Middle-Earth and the Elven race. On occasions, when they weren’t training or spending time with Boromir and Aragorn, they were joined by Legolas and the twins. Faramir and the Prince of Mirkwood had bonded quickly and become firm friends in the time since the Battle at the Black Gate. Amongst the new appointments that Aragorn had effected, he had made Faramir, Lord of Ithilien and Legolas Lord of the newly-created adjoined Eryn Lasgalen. Boromir was getting to the point where he had barely seen his baby brother in the last few days. Particularly due to a discovery he had made three days ago, one that had led to Faramir avoiding him like the plague.  
  
He didn’t normally enter Faramir’s rooms without waiting for permission, but he had desperately wanted to tell his brother something and, upon hearing him in the bathroom, had simply walked in. He hadn’t expected the sight that awaited him. Faramir’s back was a network of fine and some not so fine white scars tracing from the top of his shoulder blades and extending down to below the waistband of his trousers. He had just stood and stared in horror as Faramir had panicked, throwing on his shirt and jacket before brushing past Boromir and disappearing from the suite. Since then, the younger Hurin had literally run in the opposite direction when he had seen his older brother and had taken to hiding in the library. His actions hadn’t gone unnoticed by people and Boromir had found himself cornered by Gandalf.  
  
The Maia had informed the new Steward that he knew the root of the problem and he was more than happy to explain Faramir’s actions to Boromir and the warrior had just come from the wizards chambers and an intense conversation with Gandalf as well as Rhircyn and Ioreth. He was numb at the knowledge that had been revealed to him; he was horrified at himself for having never realised just what Faramir had been through over the years. He had always tried to protect Faramir from his father but he hadn’t realised just how badly he had failed his baby brother. What was worse was the way that his father had tried to kill Faramir barely two or three weeks ago. He was going to have to have serious words with Faramir over this. That was if he could get Faramir to stay in the same place long enough.  
  
Three hours later...  
  
Boromir had finally found his baby brother in their suite, the very last place he had thought to look. He had searched the library and virtually everywhere else before deciding to give up for the day. Upon returning to their shared rooms he had found the very person that he had been searching for. As he entered, Faramir visibly panicked but when Boromir locked the main door and then moved to block the connecting door the panic turned to resignation as he realised that he could no longer avoid the confrontation.  
  
“We need to talk Fara.” He winced inwardly as the panic returned to the still youthful looking face.  
  
“Talk about what?” Faramir was noticeably wary, not wanting to give away any information until he was probed.  
  
Boromir sighed. It looked as though this conversation wasn’t going to be an easy one. He had known that it wasn’t going to be but with the way that things were going, it looked as though it was going to be a traumatic experience for both of them.  
  
“You know what I want to talk about. Why did you never tell me Fara?”  
  
“Why didn’t I tell you what? I tell you everything.” The young Captain was starting to sound desperate.  
  
Boromir’s face twisted into a grimace. “You obviously don’t tell me everything. You can’t deny it anymore puss, I know everything. I’ve just come from a meeting with Gandalf, Rhircyn and Ioreth. They told me everything. How could you keep this a secret? Why did you never tell me what Father was doing to you?” Boromir was literally shaking with suppressed anger and emotions, his voice rising to a shout by the time he finished talking.  
  
Faramir’s entire demeanour just slumped. There was no way that he could avoid discussing the subject now. Knowing that he couldn’t escape and that he was going to have to talk, he walked over to the window seat and sat down, curling into himself and looking more like a scared child than the Captain of the Ithilien Rangers. As Boromir thought about it, this was the scared child. At the age of twenty-eight, there was still a part of Faramir that was a terrified child at the thought of his now-deceased father. The Captain-General and newly-instated Steward had to know everything. He had to try and understand.  
  
“How long has this been going on?” He asked, as he walked over to take a seat by the ginger-haired archer.  
  
“Define this.” Came the muffled voice. “The physical abuse or the mental abuse. Which charming topic would you like to discuss first.”  
  
“Both. Just pick whichever one you’re going to talk about first. Take as much time as you want, I just need to hear this.”  
  
Sapphire orbs that lacked their normal lustre, locked onto Boromir’s own emerald orbs. “Why? Why do you need to hear this now? What good is it going to do either of us Boromir? Father is dead. He can never come back and he can never hurt me again so why dig all of this up and hurt both of us?”  
  
Boromir extended his arm and looped it around Faramir’s shoulders, tugging the younger man into his side. “Yes, Father is dead and he can’t hurt you again but the point is that he has hurt you. Whether you admit it or not, he is still hurting you and you need to talk about it. I need to hear about it and if you tell me about it then you may be able to start dealing with it.”  
  
Faramir let out a bitter laugh. “Deal with it? Deal with what Boromir, the fact that our father hated me because he blamed me for the death of our mother? Our mother died just two weeks after I was born. I never knew her not at all. If it weren’t for you and Uncle Imrahail then I wouldn’t know what she looked like at all. It’s only through you two that I even know anything about her. That never mattered to Father though. All he could see was that our mother died shortly after I was born and the two facts became interchangeable. You tell me, is that the action of a sane man?”  
  
He looked up as Boromir shook his head reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I know how much you loved Father, you don’t have to deny that and he was wonderful to you. However, you have to accept that while he loved you he hated me with every fibre of his being. He made that perfectly clear when he was laying into my back with a whip, a riding crop, his belt, anything he could get his hands on. When he couldn’t lay his hands on anything he used his hands. He was very clever about hiding things so that nobody could see - it was always in places that would be hidden by my clothes and most of the time it was while you were away seeing to your duties as Captain-General. I only ever had you Bori. I never had friends and the only people I was close to were my soldier of a big brother and a Maia who was banned from the city.”  
  
Shrugging off the arm that was slung over his shoulder, he stood and started to pace up and down the room, deliberately not looking at the blonde bear of a man as he spoke. If he looked at Boromir’s face, he didn’t think that he would manage to continue talking.  
  
“The main reason that I never told you was because I know how much you loved him. I was always a thorn in the relationship you and Father shared and I had no desire to cause any fractures in that relationship. That was why I never told you that things had progressed beyond his disdain and the barbs that were directed in my direction. I can’t even remember when it moved to physical abuse, I suppose it was such a long time ago. It became worse when I grew closer to Mithrandir – you know how much Father hated him.”  
  
“When did it stop?” Boromir asked. His voice sounded choked and when Faramir looked up he could see that there were tears running down his beloved brothers face, causing him to move back over to the window seat although this time he kept his distance.  
  
“It didn’t stop until he died. The last time he beat me was before the council meeting about Rivendell. When you arrived home I had just finished cleaning and bandaging my wounds. The barbs and the comments continued until he died. Did you know that he wished I had died in your place? Our beloved Steward Lord Denethor sent me out to recapture Osgiliath with just over one hundred knights when the city was overrun with orcs. I was the only one to return and he still tried to burn me alive with him. That is how entrenched in his madness he was. He was less than sane to begin with and your assumed death sent him over the edge. I regret the fact that he died in such a manner but I cannot mourn his loss even though he was our father. We nearly lost this city due to madness and I was abused for YEARS.”  
  
Faramir broke off as the tears started to run down his face. He looked down at his knees, and didn’t look up even when he felt an arm band around his shoulders again. Then, he simply turned and literally sobbed into his brother’s shoulder. He was sobbing for everything that he had lost; his childhood, innocence, any sort of relationship with his father and generally everything that he had had to endure.  
  
He didn’t know how long they sat there with him crying and Boromir just sitting there, whispering comforting nonsense and pressing the odd kiss into his hair, like he had when Faramir was a child and afraid of thunderstorms. Finally, the crying stopped and he snuffled a little before simply nestling into the warmth of Boromir.  
  
“I’m so sorry Puss. I promised you that I would always be here to protect you and I haven’t done a very good job. The one thing that I should have been protecting you from, I didn’t even realise was happening.”  
  
“’s not your fault. I didn’t want you to know.” The emotional drainage he had been through in telling his brother everything that had occurred was starting to set in and he rubbed his face against Boromir’s jerkin, much like the little four year-old ginger kitten from years ago. “Doesn’t matter now anyway. He can’t hurt me anymore.”  
  
Boromir tightened his grip, pulling Faramir closer in to him and pressed a kiss to the soft locks. He absentmindedly started to stroke his hand along the thin back, causing the soft purring noise he was so familiar with. “No he can’t hurt you anymore. Lord of Ithilien or not, I’m going to make sure that no-one can hurt you ever again Puss. Nothing’s going to happen to you baby brother. Not on my watch. I promise you that Fara.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you would prefer to comment on LJ, you can do so [here](http://vix-spes.livejournal.com/9340.html)


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